


Chim

by LittleMusket



Series: Metanane [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Family, Gen, Going Home, Jorrvaskr (Elder Scrolls), Solitude (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-20 11:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30003996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMusket/pseuds/LittleMusket
Summary: Chim(n.) changeSamiir goes home to Solitude after working with the Stormcloaks for four months. 6th of Morning Star, 4E 202.
Series: Metanane [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2207136





	Chim

**6th of Morning Star, 4E 202**

Samiir’s journey from Whiterun to Solitude took seven days. She could have done it in less, but she needed to clear her head before she returned home to her parents and Blaise, who were no doubt wondering why a letter hadn’t come recently. Letters in Skyrim took a long time to travel, especially from Windhelm to Solitude. Mail had to pass through Whiterun, as the central trading city. Samiir expected that the last letter she wrote might be a few days off from her, ahead or behind.

The sun reached its peak when Samiir rode into Dragon Bridge. Varbaril’s massive feathered hooves clattered on the cobblestone road, and onlookers in the village watched as the mighty stallion strode past. Samiir was aware people were looking at her, curious; how often did they see Bosmer, anyway? Let alone one that looked positively exhausted, her hair windblown around the braids and her scarred face dry and rough from winter chill.

She didn’t want to stop here. She knew she wouldn’t, so she gave Varbaril a break earlier, down the road. He grazed on what he could find, the northern land barren from snowfall and freezing wind. Samiir leaned against a tree, watching the river flow by. Since she had left Whiterun, she hadn’t stopped thinking about the charming little city, nor its residents. Lucia and Farkas had found a special place in her heart in the short time she had stayed.

Sweet little Lucia; torn from her parents and denied by her family, Whiterun was all she had left. Farkas, bless his kind heart, had assumed the father position in Lucia’s life. He played it very well, too; bowing to the young lady, offering her his arm for escort, bringing her into Jorrvaskr for food and stories. Samiir’s heart had ached so deeply for them, though she knew them only a week or so.

Now, the sun had sunk past noon and hung to Samiir’s left, bearing down on the land. The light was warm, almost hot, but a welcome feeling after the constant drear, snowy days she had in Windhelm. From the base of the cliff, Samiir could see the top of Solitude’s proud walls, crimson banners fluttering in the wind. Her heart jumped and she could feel her chest tighten with excitement; the kind that leaves you breathless. Beneath her, Varbaril shuffled impatiently, reacting to her shift in attitude.

Clicking the stallion into a canter, Samiir embraced the damp, thick smell of the forest around her. She had forgotten how bittersweet the north smelled. Varbaril snorted, changing leads as Samiir pulled him over to the right side of the road. Her hips ached from the days upon days of riding she had done in just the last month: Windhelm to Whiterun, back to Windhelm, back to Whiterun, and now home to Solitude. Her lower back unleashed stabbing pain if she bent the wrong way or jolted her hips too suddenly in the saddle. She couldn’t wait to be in  _ her  _ bed after four months of sleeping in the shabby Stormcloak barracks.

When Samiir and Varbaril finally reached the gates of Solitude, Samiir pulled her steed into a steady trot, scanning the towers for guards. After Ulfric murdered King Torygg, security had doubled on Solitude’s wall and nearly tripled inside the city and around the hold. They craned their helmeted heads to peer down at Samiir, and she responded by giving a small salute and turning Varbaril down the right-hand path to Katla’s farm and the stables.

Katla was nowhere to be seen. There were more horses in the stables than when Samiir left; probably from guardsmen. Varbaril’s name was still scratched into the wooden stall next to Katla’s sturdy palomino. It remained empty. Samiir dismounted and led Varbaril into the stall, latching the gate behind her. The other horses hung their heads over their own stall doors, nickering their greetings. She set to work untacking Varbaril, brushing the sweat through his coat for an even dry and plucking burrs out of his feathers and tail. After what Samiir guessed to be an hour, she finished tending to Varbaril and left him with fresh water and hay for the night. She would tell Katla she had returned in the morning.

Judging from the sun, Samiir guessed that her parents had already returned home from the docks for the day and were counting their earnings and preparing for tomorrow. Anxiety knotted her stomach as she thought about seeing her parents again. She had been gone so long. They didn’t even know that she, their first and only daughter, had almost given up everything to serve a man that didn’t even enjoy their kind in the slightest. Samiir opted for visiting others in Solitude before she returned home, starting with the blacksmith Beirand.

Samiir quieted her footsteps as she climbed the rampart up to Beirand’s forge. The older man was facing away from her, hard at work sharpening a sword, undoubtedly for the army. She had been gone for months, and he was still slaving away for the Imperials, creating swords that might have pierced her and her Stormcloak comrades. He didn’t even know she had run off to join the rebellion. Beirand was still under the impression that Samiir was hunting Ulfric down for the glory of the empire. She felt a pang of guilt in her heart.

_ “Beirand!” Samiir called, skipping up the rampart. “Is it done? Oh, please tell me it’s done.” _

_ Beirand smiled keenly at the elf, holding his hands behind his back. “Are you sure you want to see it?” _

_ “Yes!” _

_ Beirand brought his hands in front of him, an ornate wooden bow in his hands; he had taken much time to carve intricate designs into the weapon, things that he knew Samiir loved. A stag, mountain flowers, and carvings representing the wind. In the middle, where Samiir’s hand would rest when drawing, was a carving of Arkay, a mutual god on the Bosmeri and Nordic pantheons. _

_ Samiir stretched out her hands, mouth practically watering at the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. Beirand pulled it into his chest and looked her sternly in the eye. _

_ “This bow is your life,” he guided, running his coarse fingers over the carvings. “It will protect you, and you must protect it.” _

_ “Of course,” Samiir whispered, taking the weapon in her hands. _

For what it’s worth, Samiir took her bow back from Ulfric. Beirand’s assignment of her life was back in her own hands. Taking a breath to calm her nerves, Samiir let out a low, two note whistle. Beirand looked over his shoulder and stopped peddling the grindstone, relaxing the sword on his lap. He didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair had grown long in her months away, sloppily braided away for the trip home; trapped in the cold and grey, her freckles were faint and her skin a shade lighter. She looked sickly, if Beirand was telling the truth.

“You’re home,” he smiled.

“Yes,” Samiir choked out, walking forward to give the man a hug. She wanted so deeply to tell him where she had been, what she had done, what she learned; she knew the truth would hurt him more than anything. She was a traitor to him and the city.

“Did you get the old bastard?” Beirand chuckled, releasing her from the hug. He resumed his position at the grindstone, but sat facing Samiir, waiting for her answer.

She stumbled over her words at first. “In a way, yes.” She cracked one of her fingers impulsively, cringing at the sharp pain that shot up her arm before the relief. “I think I got him pretty good.”

“That’s my girl.” Beirand gave her a hearty smile. “You ought to go home to your folks. They’ve been missing you.”

“Yeah.” Samiir sighed and smiled, waving goodbye and returning down to the city streets. She spent a while roaming the darkening roads. She peered down alleyways, watched candles light in windows throughout the neighborhood. The barracks lit as soldiers settled inside for the night, studying formations and waiting for dinner.

Dinner. That sounded nice.

Samiir set off for her parent’s house, not far outside the city walls. It was a small, modest cabin, built on the hillside north of the main road. Mountain flowers grew in bunches around the foundation, blue and yellow and pink. As Samiir walked up the path, she saw Blaise’s silhouette through the window; at least, she thought. He must have gotten taller. She paused a moment, drawing in a steady breath.

_ ‘It’s time I came home,’ _ she thought, taking hesitant steps to the front door. She knocked three times and leaned against the frame, looking up into the starry sky, still tinted blue from the dying day. The door rattled as someone grabbed the handle, and the old wood creaked as it was pulled open. Samiir returned her eyes to the door and was met with the steady, sorrel gaze of her father.

“Hello, Father,” Samiir smiled, standing up straight.

Dondalas, shorter than Samiir in his old age, let go of the door and wrapped his daughter in his arms.

“Who is it?” Samiir’s mother, Faolan, called. She rushed to the door, worried that someone had come to hurt them. She stopped when she saw Samiir.

Faolan looked on in shock, and then launched forward and joined the hug. Around the corner came Blaise, who wiggled his way into the middle and wrapped his little arms around Samiir’s waist. Samiir broke away from the hug and hoisted the boy onto her hip.

“Hi Sammy!” He exclaimed, smiling ear to ear. Samiir returned the smile and wiggled her pointed nose against his small, round one.

“Hello, my lovely.”


End file.
